Scars
by Authoressinhiding
Summary: [Oneshot] Elrohir teaches Eldarion about scars and remembers a few emotional ones himself.


**Disclaimer: I do not own anything but myself.**

"What's that?"

Elrohir looked from his nephew's tan little finger to the thin, pearly white line he was pointing at.

"It's a scar, Eldarion."

"What's a scar, uncle?"

The ellon smiled, searching for the right words. "Sometimes when you get a wound, it doesn't heal over completely. A scar is what remains."

"Like this?" Eldarion pulled up his trouser leg to reveal a hurt knee, skinned, or so Elrohir judged, a day or two ago.

"No, Eldarion. That's a scab."

"Oh. How many scars do you have?"

Elrohir couldn't help himself. He chuckled. "Several."

"Let me see them!" commanded the little prince. Then, in a softer voice, "Please?"

"Well, you saw the one on my right hand. I have two on my left leg," he pulled up his pant leg to show the curious little boy. "Here and here."

"What are they from?"

"Oh, various battles." Elrohir waved an airy hand.

"More?"

Rolling his eyes and sighing, Elrohir continued, "I have quite a long one weaving its way across my chest – one which I am **not** going to show you, and a few small ones on my arms."

"Where'd you get the big one?" asked Eldarion almost reverently.

"Elladan and I were rescuing your grandmother," he replied after some hesitation.

"What was her name again? Mommy never mentions her."

"Celebrian," answered Elrohir, thinking, _And no wonder. They were so close, Arwen and naneth. More like sisters than mother and daughter._

"Celebrian," Eldarion repeated quietly, eyes closed as if to savor the taste of the name. "It's pretty."

"Yes."

"Why were you rescuing her?"

Elrohir swallowed. Even after over five hundred years, the memory was as clear to him as those of the day before. "She was going to Lorien to visit her mother, Galadriel, the Lady of Light. Her party was waylaid in the Redhorn Pass by orcs. We, her escort, were scattered, caught unawares. Before we could pull ourselves together and fight, they had taken Celebrian. At once we set off in pursuit, but they were wily and hid their tracks well. So it was they arrived at their stronghold two days before we did. Of course we routed them out and rescued Celebrian, but we were too late. She had been tortured in their foul dens and given a poisoned wound. No," he held up a hand as Eldarion opened his mouth to ask a question. "Do not ask me for specifics. I will not give them to a five-year-old. Our journey back to Rivendell was terrible, with Mother moaning and in constant pain. There was nothing we could do but hurry and move as fast as we possibly could. Ada cured her of the wound – "

"Was he a healer, like my Ada?" interrupted Eldarion.

"Yes. Well, he healed her, but things were never really the same after that. She had lost her love of Middle-earth and found no joy in it anymore. The next year, she sailed away to Tol Erressëa."

"How old were you?"

"Two thousand, three hundred, and eighty-years-old."

The little boy's mouth dropped open. "You're ancient!"

"I am an elf, Eldarion." Elrohir smiled softly.

"Still, didn't it hurt to lose your mom?"

"Yes."

Eldarion thought about this for a moment and then shook it off. "Thanks for teaching me about scars, uncle. I'm going to go tell Mother! I bet she'll be glad to hear about them!"

The little prince raced away, leaving his uncle alone in the garden to think.

Scars. He hadn't told his nephew completely about them. There was another kind he had not mentioned to the young boy. The kind Elrohir carried around wherever he went, those that hurt much more than the one on his chest. Yes, he bore a mark of the rescue of Celebrian on his body, but there were many more inner scars due to that unfortunate incident that were breath-takingly painful.

He missed his mother so much. He knew she had left because of the attack, but still a childlike part of him wondered if she had left because of him. Had she held her capture against her sons? Elrohir knew Elladan felt the same way sometimes, but his younger brother had Elrond and Arwen's help to feel better. Because he kept everything inside, Elrohir had not been able to profit from any such therapy or obvious outpouring of love.

With a sigh, Elrohir rose from the bench and headed for his horse's stable, intent on a ride out in the green fields. As he walked, the elf recalled the gleam of moonlight on silver-blonde hair, the feel of gentle arms holding him in a comforting embrace, the lilting sound of nighttime lullabies and wished with all his heart to have them again.


End file.
